


Hellboy: Mutts Like Us

by Badtusk



Category: Hellboy (Comics), Hellboy (Movies), Hellboy - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Bureau of Paranormal Research and Defense, Comic, Comics/Movie Crossover, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Hellboy - Freeform, Humor, Monster Girl, Monsters, Paranormal, Paranormal Investigators, Romance, Supernatural - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2019-09-24 06:26:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17095517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Badtusk/pseuds/Badtusk
Summary: This wasn’t exactly the job John Myers thought it might be. That wasn’t to say he didn’t enjoy it. The BPRD certainly had its colorful moments, from Red to Blue; and everything in between seemed kind of, well, Grey.Sebastian wasn’t a nobody, and never was much of a somebody. She was something in between, quite literally so. Professor Broom had called her, “a guardian,” a creature born of the gateway that connected the realms of the nothing-good and the world-as-we-knew.John Myers, on the other hand, had called her, “impolite,” which was just a nice way of calling her rude, and never once mentioned the word apocalypse.It was unfortunate to think, that with her and Hellboy in the same place - Rasputin might have his second chance at Eden. Yet those were the facts, theorized as they were.More unfortunate it was to realize, that neither were too keen on written destinies.





	1. Chapter 1

### Prologue

Deland's Quick Stop wasn't anything special on the outside, which wasn't to say it was anything particularly special inside either. In fact, it wasn't even kind of bland, nor unappealing, not even unlikeable. To put it nicely, if Deland's were a street sign, you would miss your turn every time.

It was forgettable.

But that had always been the point. Much like a mafia front, which it wasn't, Deland's was a store, which it was, that housed a most terrible and unusual secret. _{Terrible for dramatic effect, and unusual because it was true.}_ Professor Dorian Deland was an old man at one point in his life, and before that he was young, after it all he was dead, but somewhere in between he had been a smart man, if not a bit peculiar and preoccupied.

He had found her _{Sebastian, that is}_ born from the fault between two worlds. Small, as most children are, with the fire of Hell burning in her eyes and a mouth full of teeth, which any parent could tell you, isn't all that odd either.

He had always known wise men to say, that good things come in threes.

Which in turn must meant that so too should bad things. Dorian Deland wasn't quite sure which thing he had, or which thing his colleague, Professor Broom had, or what third thing may have slipped through the cracks when they weren't looking - what he did know, was that he was good. And so was Broom. And if they were both, very good men, then so too should be these two would-be-demons.

Except Sebastian.  
Who would grow up to be a very good woman.  
And she did.

_{Let the record reflect that Dorian Deland never once specified whether or not she would be nice. And as for the testament of reviews of the late Professor Deland's legacy in store front location, Sebastian Deland has been noted as a "cold and rude individual who lacks integrity" by the multitude of 1-2 star Google reviews. Of which there are a lot.}_

To what ever happened to Professor Broom or the other Hell-child, the Delands never knew. The history of their occurrence was never recorded to the bookshelves of Dorian Deland's homestead, nor did the story of them ever decorate the dreamscapes of bedtime stories told to an unwearied young Sebastian.

She did not know him.  
And he did not know her.

So it was only natural that these two, what should never meet - would some day, by some coincidence of fate {or perhaps not, for all beliefs are not the same} be reunited. Which of course, was exactly what was about to happen thirty three minutes and twenty two seconds after Crown Alarm Company had called Sebastian in the middle of a new morning's night.


	2. There's No Alarm Company, Is There?

_Bzzzz_

_Zzzz_

_Zzzz_

Her phone vibrated on the nightstand, slowly making its way towards the precipice, a great cliff before a two foot drop to the swirling abyss of a shag carpet nightmare. Teetering on the edge, it's face illuminated with blocked numbers, one more buzz closer and then - a hand from beneath the duvet slapped down over it and withdrew it into the darkened, down cavern.

Sebastian hadn't bothered to check the caller ID, nor to open her eyes, she knew it was work - who else would call her at ... whatever hour this absolutely dared to be.

"Hello?"

"Hi, this is Crown Alarm Company. Can you please confirm your name and store number?"

"Sebastian Deland, 237."

"Good morning Sebastian, we received an alert from your store at 2:45 this morning. Are you open for the day?"

With great effort she removed herself from bed, throwing back the embrace of night in a haphazard heap of folds and wrinkles. She didn't bother to even lie that she might come back later tonight and make up her bed. It just wasn't happening. It never did.

"No," she replied on a stiff stretch of body.

"Alright, ma'am, we will send an officer down to meet you."

The line clicked over to silence.

"Shit," Sebastian hissed on an exhaled yawn.

She gathered her things at no urgency of matter. These things never were all too much anyway - not that they were common occurrences at all, simply put  
\- she didn't care.

### 

Sebastian tilted her gaze up to the rear view mirror, the light of passing cars glancing over her rose tinted glasses. Her hair was a rockstar mess, long bangs swept to the side, the short bits twisted and knotted from the toss and turn of a less than fitful night sleep. She brushed a hand over them as if doing so might be enough to manage the tangles, only succeeding in catching her fingers in a rather vicious knot. She scrunched her nose as she pulled it free and returned her attention the road as Deland's quickly drew into sight beyond the glow of a blinking yellow light.

The shop boasted a small sign which was completely unreadable by the amount of paint that had chipped off, the telephone number was only three numbers long _{now}_ and the cheerful dog mascot had lost half of its face to a battle with the elements and graffiti artists. Who were, quite obviously, the true villains of this story.

The lot itself was overgrown with weeds, coming up through the cracks in the pavement, camouflaging potholes that might as well be graves for shocks and tires. Broken bottles and empty nips collected in the corners of unpainted wheelstops with half smoked cigarettes, and off-ramp dreams. An Officer stood by the doors of Deland's, illuminated by the headlights of his own vehicle. In his hand he held another - hand that is. Not severed, but attached to a whole other man, who seemed to be nodding along in some familiarity of greeting, gesturing along in story.

Their attention turned up as Sebastian's own lights crossed over them. They parted in their handshake, the Officer now placing one hand to his belt, boasting some semblance of professionalism as he waved to the approaching vehicle.

She pulled into the spot just two stops to the left, the hum of her engine dying down with the turn of key and a banjo's last breath of song. She pulled her wind chime of a key ring from the ignition, sliding it into her pocket as she opened the door to a brisk fall night.

_"Morning."_  
Morning. Whatever.

The Officer gave her a nod with greeting, one she returned a little less enthusiastically as the warmth of her bed still beckoned from five minutes passed.

"Officer Noble," he introduced, holding out a hand to shake. To which, once more, Sebastian obliged bored pleasantries.

"Sebastian, this is my place," she said with a nod of her chin, and didn't bother to get the second man's name, "so, what's going on?"

"Hi, Sebastian," the second man stepped forward, nervousness twinged on his voice, a young man in a neat suit. Neat of course meaning clean and well pressed, not to be confused with impressed - which Sebastian was not. "I'm Agent John Myers with the Crown Alarm Company-"

She shook his hand, cutting him off amidst his speech, "Yeah, yeah. What happened to Cole?"

"Ah, transferred last year."

"That's too bad," Sebastian said, "I liked him."

Agent Myers quirked a brow, started to say something. Stopped. Frowned some more. Looked to the parking lot beside them for answer. Looked back to Sebastian and added "Aren't you the one that threatened to run him over with your car?"

"That doesn't sound like me."

_{It is important to note, that out of the three individuals participating in this tale, only one had been honest, and that would be Officer Noble; who truth be told, quietly wished he had become a veterinarian instead. Agent Myers wasn't from the Crown Alarm Company and Sebastian had most assuredly threatened to hit his predecessor with her car. Which, of course, was directly related to his reason for transfer.}_

Agent Myers offered up a very incredulous look, trying to find some break in that impassive face of hers. But found none, accepted it, and moved on, albeit a bit more carefully.

"Officer Noble and I did a preliminary sweep of the establishment,"  
Such that Delands was.  
"- and it doesn't look like anything was broken or stolen. The till is still closed, the safe beneath the counter is still locked, nothing was really out of place. Of course, without an inventory report, we have no solid proof. It's very likely someone got in and stole a couple of packs of cigarettes. However..."

Sebastian moved between the men, splitting their comforts to either side of herself as she made her way into the store, Agent Myers collapsing on into her wake and following behind with the Officer.

"It looks like someone forced open this door here to the basement," Myers pointed over her shoulder, as if she'd forgotten the whereabouts of her own store - which had never once changed in the past 30 years."I don't know if you have anything valuable downstairs besides paperwork," he posed this as a question, fishing for an answer on a dot-dot-dot and never getting one.

So, he pressed further.

"The report I have on file from Agent Cole says that you declined investigations into the basement during previous follow-up calls. If there's something we should be looking for - or know about."

Sebastian stopped at the top of the old basement steps, the din of an old free hanging bulb offering a soft halo of light to the bottom. "My father converted this place to a store front a long time ago. Before that I think he used it as an office. Far as I know it's just a bunch of paperwork. If anything's missing, I honestly wouldn't know."

"Then why keep it locked?"

"Because it's my father's things and I don't want people poking through them," she said rather bluntly.

This seemed more than fair in response, and Agent Myers dropped the point.  
He nodded.

Sebastian stepped down those first few steps, feeling an unresolved weight gain within her as she descended further and further into that den.

Agent Myers made an effort in his mind to stop her, that it would be O.K to leave the answers to him and Officer Noble, but did nothing instead. This, he figured, was a necessary risk of mental well being that she see for herself the state in which her father's affairs had been left.

The basement was one book and over a thousand loose pieces of papers stitched together with different color threads and pushpins. Chaos blushed to the pages strewn about this lost office, a mess no toddler could match on their worst days. If there was any order to be found, it was at the end of disorder. Certainly, no one in their right mind would take the time to search this mess, as it were that no one in their right mind could create such a mess - so it became glaringly clear that Officer Noble, Agent Myers and Sebastian were not looking for someone in any kind of right mind.

Which said a lot about them as people.

Whatever they found, and Sebastian was quite sure they had, must have been so incredibly, greatly important to not dissuade them from such an absurdly futile task. But she had never known her father to keep any secret so great. And if that were the truth, he had never once hinted to her what it might be.

Outside of her own being that is.  
But this was not anything she was about to tell Officer Noble and Agent Myers.

"Sorry, I really can't tell you what someone might be looking for down here," she reiterated, idly sifting through papers as if she had any clue to what she might be looking for.

"Well," Officer Noble said from the landing, "I can write up a report tonight and I can follow up with you later in the afternoon. This looks like it's going to be a lot to sift through."

Sebastian's eyes slowly moved over the desk and letter box cabinets, as if by some miracle of chance she'd recognize a small sliver of evidence to the supposed intention of crime.

"No."

"What?" Officer Noble didn't mean for it to come off as sharp a request as it had, but from the top of the stairs he just couldn't hear her.

"I don't want to file a report. Whatever's gone is gone. I'm not going to waste anyone's time over some old, crumpled up pieces of paper."

Officer Noble shrugged, at least the paperwork wouldn't be too bad. Which was ironic, given the circumstances of the call. "I'll leave my card on the counter. Give me a call if you change your mind."

Sebastian nodded.  
Which was a very poor note to leave a man's life on, for when Officer Noble turned to leave said card on said counter, he was introduced rather unexpectedly, to the very peculiar sensation of decapitation.

It was at that moment that Officer Noble, between figuring out just which way his head was falling and just how dead he should be,had decided very much, that he did not want to work today.

And it was when Officer Noble's head hit the floor that both Sebastian and Agent John Myers, had the very same thought - for very different reasons.

Agent Myers threw an arm across Sebastian's chest in a chivalrous gesture of goodwill, already searching the holster tucked beneath his jacket for the gun he was completely unfamiliar with.

At the top of the stairs, Officer Noble's body slumped over in a sad, $11.00 an hour heap.

"Σας έψαχνα, Κέρβερος."

From their angle it was impossible to read the figure's concept of form, only a dark shadow, silhouetted in blood: broad shoulders, long tangled hair, tattoos barely legible in the shadows of a stairwell - and his voice - his voice like the grave, calling out to the study of a dead man.

Still, Agent Myers trained his sights on what he could see, and replied quite seriously _{he would later claim to do so with great bravado, but Sebastian assures me, his voice cracked "like a little boy's," and proceeded to laugh so hard she nearly vomited upon herself}_ , "Don't take another step."

Which, the figure ignored completely.

"Do alarm companies usually hand out guns?" Sebastian asked in a hushed voice.

"Not _really_ the time," Agent Myers retorted through grit teeth.

The man took another step down. Each heavier than the last, resonating in that dusty tomb as he slowly closed off the world above with no other escape between them and it.

"Ελάτε παιδί, ο πατέρας σας σας περιμένει."

"Well, do you know how to use it?" Sebastian asked.

In response, Agent Myers fired - and missed completely.

"You have got to be kidding me," Sebastian declared. She grabbed Agent Myers by the arm and  
_-Left?_

_{It has yet to be clarified how exactly Sebastian and Agent John Myers made their escape from the basement of Deland's Quick Stop. As I have come to understand, and as has been recorded here, there was only one exit, which was blocked by a dead man, and a murderer. If any fight had occurred, there was no indication at the scene (besides a single bullet hole), nor upon their persons. I am led to believe that such fortuitous events for these two (not including Officer Noble as he had already been presumed, and rightly so, dead) was due to the uniqueness of Sebastian Deland...or the forgetfulness of Agent John Myers._

_"I was there. And then I wasn't. Like a dream when the parts just skip around. That's what it was like." - John Myers, 12._

_"So, you're going to write down everything we say?" - Sebastian Deland_  
_"Penis." - Sebastian Deland_  
_"Did you actually write it? Oh that's fantastic!" - Sebastian Deland }_


	3. In Which Agent John Myers is Full of Shit

"Get in."

The world washed away like water paints in a washing machine, a kaleidoscope of color that swirled before him and turned his stomach. Agent Myers couldn't help the bubble of vomit that made its way up into his throat. He carried himself shakily towards Sebastian's car, planting a hand against the still warm hood to steady himself before throwing up all over the convenience store sidewalk.

His vision was a migraine strained blur, warping up at the sides and making him feel all sorts of uncomfortable.

"Where are we," he wiped at his mouth with his shirt sleeve.

"Outside. Get in," Sebastian repeated, "Or I'm leaving you here."

"H-what?"

The driver's side door slammed shut and the engine came to life beneath his hands. He scrambled alongside the vehicle, his free hand sliding all along its body so that he did not trip over his own two feet, which were so much more like noodles and sauce than bone and muscle.

He clambered in, fumbling to hold his gun as he fastened his seatbelt across him.

"What the hell was that?" Sebastian snapped.

"I don't know, never saw it before."

"Not that. I mean you. What the fuck? Did you mail in box tops for that gun? Give me that."

She reached over and snatched the gun from his unsteady hand.

"Give that back," he said.

"Preliminary sweep my ass," Sebastian muttered.

She turned out through that flashing yellow light, the din of her store fading in the rear view of the old Ford. Sebastian could see, just faintly standing there, a looming shadow in the doorway of Deland's, it's language that of a beast as it looked this way and that. She watched the distance between them grow, gun and wheel in her hands and Agent Myers protesting in her ear.

"He wasn't there when we checked," he said, "it's possible he was waiting for you to arrive. Please give me my gun back."

"You know how to use a phone?"

"Yes?"

"Good. You can be in charge of that. Since you're shit with this," she gave the gun an indicatory wave, "Call the cops."

Agent Myers wasn't about to alert the police, not that this wasn't a situation that fell within their jurisdiction, which it did, but because he knew they weren't equipped to fight whatever _thing_ that was - as its target surely wasn't whatever thing she said _she_ was.

He searched his pockets and pulled out his phone.

"It's Agent Myers," she heard him say, "We've got a situation." And that was it.

Sebastian cast him a suspicious glance, "You're not from the alarm company, are you?" She asked at the call's end.

"It's complicated," he admitted.

"FBI?"

"Yes. But not what you think."

"I'll make you walk."

"BPRD."

"What's that?"

"The Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense."

Sebastian stomped on the brakes, the old Ford protesting on a shrill whine as it came to a stop in the middle of the road.

"Get out," she said.

"Please keep driving," Agent John Myers said, nervously looking out each window.

"Paranormal Research and Defense? Get out."

"Just, let me explain."

"Better be quick."

"The Crown Alarm Company is one of our fronts to," he paused and then carefully continued, "keep tabs on certain supernatural beings."

Sebastian squinted.

"When your father was alive, he took out a sort of policy with the Bureau under the CAC name as a way to ensure the safety of his assets and, well, you."

"My father never mentioned the BPRD," she said.

"It's the truth. Please, can you keep driving?"

Sebastian hesitated for effect, then obliged request.

"Well, Agent Myers I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself without this policy." Hands still gripped to the wheel, she raised two fingers and air quoted the word policy.

"Miss Deland-"

"Sebastian."

"Sorry. Sebastian, I'm not certain what things Professor Deland had in his possession, or why you might need our help - but I really must protest."

"Here we go," she said dismissively.

"I don't know what, or who that was back there - and, and I don't think you do either. But whatever it is - I don't think that will be the last time you see it. Are you prepared for that?"

A passing garbage truck's headlights glanced over Sebastian's glasses, veiling her eyes from Agent Myers for the briefest of moments. He searched her for answer, but found her impressively impassive and strangely unperplexed by the progression of events.

"Are you?" She replied.

"Excuse me?"

"Say I agree to this and I follow you back to - wherever - and that thing shows up again. Are you also prepared to fulfill this policy?"

"Well. Yes. We have resources to deal with these kinds of threats."

"Where are they?"

"What?"

"Your resources. Where are they? Because for a well prepared agent of this Bureau..." she paused to allow him to fill in the blanks.

"For Paranormal Research and Defense"

She repeated along with him after the first consonant of "Research" as if she hadn't forgotten at all.

"You weren't doing a whole lot of defending against the paranormal."

There was an uncomfortable silence. Agent Myers visibly fidgeted and then spoke rather quietly, "How...did we get out of there?"

Sebastian could feel him watching her, searching once more for answers within her face, "Quick and dirty?"

Agent Myers nodded.

"Teleported. That's why you're feeling sick."

"You can teleport?"

"No. But it's the easiest way to explain it."

He offered a curious look.

"Look, my father spent 53 years studying the phenomena, you're not about to understand it in a five minute car ride. Where am I going?"

"Oh- right...The old waste management facility," he directed, "Could your father do it as well?"

"That's not what I meant."

"You meant ... you're the phenomena."

Sebastian clicked her tongue in approval.

"That would make you over 60?" He did the math in his head and found a variable he did not expect between Sebastian and the BPRD's own "phenomena" of sorts. Agent Myers, however, never used such nice words to describe him.

"Yeah. 61," she said.

"You certainly don't look it," he said, "Can I please have my gun back?"

Sebastian thought about it for a long moment, then finally turned the gun safely over to him, "The BPRD needs better agents," she quipped.

"If we were expecting an ambush, they probably would have sent them first," he said.

"How's that tactic working out?"

Agent Myers exhaled a breath through his nose and almost asked "are all of you like this," but kept his mouth shut instead. Which was a very wise decision on his part. What he actually said was, "This is it," and "Turn in here." Which, Sebastian did.


	4. It all Starts and Ends with Crap

“Ah. Crap.”

Hellboy crashed through the cash wrap of Deland’s Quick Whatever. The counter folded in like a mattress as it absorbed the shock of the blow, cradling the demon in a newly warped heap of laminate and plywood. 

Counter displays slid down into the crevice, each knocking him on the head to the tune of “Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.”

He groaned.  
With a sweep of his arm he tossed aside the gum and Rolaids and clambered up out of the counter. 

“Alright Tiny, you wanna dance?” He rolled his shoulder, a 35 cent Winterfresh slid off the duster and into the collection at his feet. “Let’s dance.” With a sickening crack he punched the less-than-tiny man square in the jaw - which, up until this point, had been pretty square itself. 

“Do you mind keeping it down a little?” Abe softly spoke up from the cellar study.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Hellboy replied, punctuating the period at the end with another punch.

The other man recoiled to the stone fist, his nose crooked and bloody. It wasn’t much to deter the grin on the his face though, which pissed Hellboy off more than anything else. So he threw another punch and greatly underestimated the fight he had picked when “Tiny” caught it in the palm of his own left hand. 

His fingers curled over the red stone, his knuckles tattooed one letter at a time U.L.E.S. Which probably meant something greatly significant to “Tiny” himself, as it meant absolutely nothing to Hellboy.

With an upward motion, he tossed Hellboy straight into a rack of the loudest potato chips ever. 

Abe sighed amongst the pile of paperwork, which could probably be considered the eighth wonder of the world given the sheer capacity of it all. Above him the fight continued emphasized in bold, twenty point font comic book sound effects as each “man” took turns throwing the other into something Sebastian was probably going to have to replace. 

“Boys will be boys,” he sang to himself with a shake of the head. 

The paperwork hadn’t changed at all between Sebastian going and Abe coming, which didn’t really change much at all _about_ the papers. It was still just as unorganized and still just as confusing. _{This I say having viewed the collection myself and understanding only key phrases such as “The” and “And”. Abe Sapien, on the other hand, boasts a profound capacity of mental cognizance and was able to discern most of the late Professor’s handwritten notes in a total of thirteen minutes. Which would have taken much less time, were Hellboy not making a ruckus one floor above him.}_

“This is interesting,” he mused to himself, gently lifting an age stained file to the halo of light. 

“Yeah?” Hellboy grunted as Tiny’s arms wrapped about his torso, crushing him in a vicious bear hug, “What’s so-” he struggled, “-interesting about a bunch of papers?” 

“There’s files here from the war,” Abe said to the floor above, “from when Professor Broom found you.” He cocked his head to the side, blinked curiously, and repeated the word out loud, “Curious.” 

“Yeah,” Hellboy replied on a knowing tone as he threw his head back and split Tiny’s lip. 

Tiny released him. Hellboy spun about, taking three good steps back before laying into the man again. “Doesn’t seem too strange. Professor What’s-his-name was one of my father’s friends from the war.”

“A friend he never talks about?”

“He talks about him,” he took another spill through a stack of two liters, “just, you know,” he flapped his arms downward in sticky irritation, “Not all the time.” 

“Hmm.”

“Mostly when the alarms go off for this place.”

“Is that right?” 

“Yeah, he says: ‘Go check out What’s-his-face’s store.’ UGH. Great! Now my boots are going to be all sticky,” he exclaimed within the puddle of fizzing soda, “And then,” he exhaled frustrated, “here we are.” 

Abe rolled his eyes to the ceiling, or at least mimicked the upward turn of his chin and taxed sigh of his human-like counterparts. “And it’s not odd to you why we do this?”

“Not really the _strangest_ thing we’ve done.” 

Tiny leapt into him, their bodies crashing into the cooler doors. The glass shattered to Hellboy’s back, the lights all along the casing flickered out, and several Red Bulls spluttered and sprayed all over the two of them.

“I suppose you do have a point,” carefully, Abe began to collect the papers, in order, which to anyone else was honestly quite amazing.

Hellboy, on the other hand, continued to get his ass beat {or to beat Tiny’s ass, depending on the perspective of the one throwing the punches}. 

“Screw this,” he drew the Good Samaritan from its holster and didn’t bother to level the sites. He knew the shot and it really wasn’t all that hard to hit a 300 pound man two feet away _{or so should be the case in most situations. Agent John Myers being the current and only outlier}._

His aim was true and the bullet struck Tiny with a flash. What Hellboy hadn’t noticed as the 300 pound tank of a man fell with the exact sound a 300 pound tank of a man should - was that the bullet had glanced off his shoulder, right where the tattoo of a Lion’s paw began. The very same spot another bullet had missed with acute precision. 

Which was a very odd thing to say.

But.  
Those were the facts, as strange as they were, and Hellboy didn’t notice, nor care to play coroner. Therefore, he holstered his gun with a trademarked cocky pride.

He adjusted his coat, noting with a scowl and a small sound of irritation that Tiny had put a good sized tear in the sleeve. Glass fell from the folds and hit the ground with a soft ‘clink’ as he made his way to the basement door. He peered down into the old study, watching as Abe put together a book previously and completely out of order. 

“Any clue about our friend up here?” he asked with a nod of his head to Tiny, “Why would he come bust down a convenience store? Ah, maybe he was hungry?” he joked.

“I don’t think that’s why he’s here,” Abe replied on that same practiced softness.

“Hmph,” Hellboy descended the stairwell, ducking down to avoid knocking the stumps of his horns off the overhang as he did, “So what, he came here for some quiet time to read?” he prodded with equal, if not greater sarcasm. 

“Perhaps,” Abe said, “It’s hard to tell.” 

“What?” 

“The particles in the air,” he said as he tilted his head just a bit to the side, “I am having trouble reading the history of this place.”

“That ever happen before?” 

“No,” he said with great interest, “it’s as if whatever was here - just vanished, past included.” 

“How’s that possible?” 

“I think these,” Abe said as he swept a free hand through the air, gesturing widely and with a river’s grace to the papers still littered about the room, “will explain it. It’s all of Professor Deland’s research. It’s actually quite fascinating-” 

“Uh-huh” 

“-he talks in great detail about the application of a ring singularity as it is applied to a person -”

“Uh-huh,” Hellboy thumbed idly through some papers.

“- meaning that whatever person existed as this singularity could essentially _bend_ space - ”

“Uh-huh,” he pulled up a Polaroid bookmark.

“Which, if they existed, would account for the particle displacement. There’s nothing to read, because it no longer exists.” 

“Cute kid,” Hellboy said and held the photograph up to Abe. 

“Ah…yes” he looked up, “that is Professor Deland’s daughter. I believe her name is Sebastian.”

The photograph was that of a dark skinned young girl sitting on a swing with untied shoes and a smile absent two teeth. A crest of sunlight caught around her in the momentum of an upswing, the flare of the lens bent awkwardly and unnaturally in the white bordered Polaroid frame. 

Waterlogged maybe.

“She the … what’d you call it, single girl?” 

“Singularity,” Abe gingerly took the photograph from Hellboy and examined it, “Hard to say, most of what Professor Deland wrote is in hypotheticals.”

“Maybe Tiny was here for her, huh?”

Abe continued to look at the photograph. 

“Hm,” Hellboy agreed with himself for him, “I’ll go ask.” 

He turned to the stairs.

“Crap.” 

_{It was within that moment that Agent Hellboy realized Tiny had disappeared. Not like a ghost, but like a human, on sticky and bloody footprints from shards of broken glass and empty sodas. An attempt at pursuit was made, however, turned up no further leads to the whereabouts of the assailant dubbed “Tiny.”}_


	5. The Setup Chapter

“Fish tank without fish,” Sebastian said with a wrap of her knuckles, “cool.” 

“Oh,” Agent Myers said, glancing over from the door, “it’s not usually empty.”

Sebastian peered back into the tank as if in light of that new information, she might catch just a glimpse of a scale. But, it remained empty and still.

“I’m real sorry about all of this, Miss Deland,” Agent Myers said, invading her personal space once more with that charming worry. 

“Sebastian,” she corrected again.

“Right, sorry, Sebastian.” 

“I’m _pretty_ sure none of this is your fault.”

“I know, but...still,” he shrugged in his coyness, his eyes full of questions as he watched Sebastian move about the grand study. 

However, her gaze never answered his, intrigued instead by the central office, it’s empty fish tank and the four Brugiére lecterns each with their own book set before it: _Woolly_ , Mezrich. _The Terror_ , Simmons. _The Glass Universe,_ Sobel. _The Good People_ , Kent. Each one turned to exactly the same page: thirty five.

She idly wondered whether or not the agents here were required to do book reports - or the fish.

“Do you have any idea who that was back there?” Agent Myers asked.

“You’re the paranormal expert,” Sebastian said, her fingers just gently touched to the thirty fifth page of Woolly, “you tell me.” 

“W-well,” stammered Agent Myers, which was a very polite way to start a very offensive explanation, “up until a few minutes ago I was under the impression you weren’t - uh,” he struggled for a word, “w-well...you know,” he gestured stiffly at her, as if that were any better way to put it. “Based on your file I just assumed-“ 

He was reminded of his first day at the BPRD and just how eloquently he had introduced himself to Hellboy.

This was - uncomfortably similar.   
If not exactly the same.  
Still, he carried on within his proverbial shovel in hand.

“I just figured your father was an eccentric,” he finished in an exhale, “I didn’t know you were...different.” 

“Wow,” Sebastian said, “you’re good. I can see why they hired you.”

“What I mean to say,” he tried again, which was awful brave, “It’s pretty safe to say that “ _man_ ” was - _IS_ \- looking for you?”

“He didn’t show up until I did,” Sebastian said with a halfhearted shrug, “- seems to be the case, Agent.”

“Oh, just John is fine.”

Sebastian offered a very small and very quick flash of a smile, “John,” she corrected.

Her attention snapped behind him however when one of those grand entryway doors opened to a very frail Professor Broom; His eyes were tired, his suit neat and smelling faintly of butterscotch. There was a certain shine of recognition in his eyes and to the candor of his voice that, for the life of her, Sebastian could not replicate or pretend to replicate. Though she had seen several old men who looked quite similar to Professor Broom, she had never seen this particular old man in her life.

“Professor,” Myers said with minute surprise, “This is-“ 

“Sebastian Deland,” finished the Professor, “My have you grown quite a bit. When I last saw you, you were only this big.” He held up a hand to indicate her height, which was significantly shorter than she stood today. 

Sebastian quirked a brow, “I’m sorry,” she said “I don’t remember you?” 

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t, my name’s Professor Trevor Bruttenholm, I’m an old friend of your father’s,” he held out a shaky hand in greeting.

Sebastian took it with care and shook it gently, “He’s never mentioned you,” she said.

“Well, your father thought that ...” he paused wistfully, “might be for the best.”

“Why?”

“It would be a very long story and I am a very old man,” he chuckled.

“Bullet points,” Sebastian said.

Professor Broom sighed, not the type of sigh that spoke of annoyance, but one that exhaled the breath of all his thoughts as he tried to figure out just where to start. “Your father and I met during the war,” said Professor Broom, “1944, when Grigori Rasputin, with the help of the Nazis, created a portal to the prison of the _Ogdru Jahad_. His intention was to destroy all of life as we knew it - and usher in a new Eden. With your father’s help we were able to destroy the portal and prevent this - apocalypse.” He idly stroked the grey of his mustache in the memories of his past. “When the portal collapsed we found that something had come through. Two things to be precise,” he said, “one was you and the other,” his gaze was far away now, “was my son.” 

“Your father helped me in founding the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense after that, but didn’t stay. We kept in touch here and there - through letter and telephone, but he made it very clear the life he wanted for you, and it wasn’t with the Bureau. You are...very special, you know that right?”

She snorted, “Yeah, he told me that a few times,” she really couldn’t refute his claim, after all, she wasn’t exactly the kind of common thing that belonged in this realm to begin with. “Sooo,” there was so much more to the story and bullet points weren’t exactly a precise manner of retelling, they never were, but there was no doubt she would hear it again - in much greater detail, perhaps with a much larger audience - at least by two. So Sebastian instead focused on one point, and pursued that. “I have what? A brother?” 

“More like ... a cousin,” suggested Professor Broom.

“Hm,” said Sebastian.

“Hm,” said John with a very different inflection,

“Not a fan?”

“It’s not that, he can just be a bit-“

“Arrogant?” Professor Broom offered.

“Only a little,” John said with a hint of embarrassment.

Sebastian chuckled, which made both, Agent John Myers and Professor Trevor Bruttenholm, smile. 

“When do I get to meet this secret cousin of mine?” Sebastian asked.

“Any minute now I assume,” said Professor Broom, “in the meantime, make yourself at home.”

The implication was there, tacked on at the end, _‘because it is now.’_

Which did not offend Sebastian at all.


	6. The Setup Chapter, But Continued

Any minute now came very soon after, passed by in idle conversation that was more one sided than anything. Sebastian wasn't much for conversing with strangers, regardless of histories she couldn't remember.

So she sat and she listened to Professor Broom and she watched the bubbles in the empty fish tank and John Myers awkwardly stood at the end of the couch, trying to look as casual as possible.

And Any Minute... Any Minute was a loud string of curse words and threats, shouted on down the hallway that led to the great study.

"Unbelievable" said Any Minute, "This is unbelievable! How many times have I told him not to be seen? And he goes off and disappears AGAIN?!"

"Oh dear..." said Professor Broom as the outside aggravation drew closer and closer.

"I've had it up to, look at me, I've had it up to HERE with him."

John made a face one does when they're readying for a hurricane.

"When he gets back - you let me know. Immediately!" Any Time said, and then added, "I'm putting him on lockdown."

Within the hesitation for response, the doors flung open, exposing the stuffed suited attitude that composed the Chief Director of the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense.

Beside him Abe had had the general displeasure of his company.

"What seems to be the problem today, Tom?" Asked Professor Broom.

"You _know_ what the problem is," he spat, "Hellboy! He's gone off and disappeared again."

"I tried to stop him," Abe interjected, his voice like an ocean wave, gentle and rolling with pleasant song, "but he was very determined."

"Yeah right. You two are thick as thieves," Manning grumbled, "probably in cahoots. You're cahooting!" he announced.

"We aren't 'cahooting' anything," Abe said sincerely.

"I'm sure he has a perfectly reasonable explanation," Professor Broom defended.

"Bullshit," said Manning, "after these two bozos," he gestured to Abe, "lost track of whatever that _thing_ was, he disabled his tracking device and disappeared. Probably off giving a goddamn interview to the Daily Post."

"I'll talk to him," said Professor Broom.

"No, not you," Manning was quick to stop him at the pass, "I'll talk to him."

He looked at John and paused, then frowned, "Why are you standing like that?" He asked, gesturing out with an open hand.

John quickly adjusted his posture once more, accomplishing a look that was anything but relaxed.

"And you," Tom gestured next to Sebastian, "why are you in your pajamas? And _where_ were you two during all of this? No agents at the scene. None!"

"Tom this is Sebastian," Professor Broom introduced, "She's the owner of the Quick Stop. Not an agent."

"Oh," said Manning. He gave her a once over that didn't exactly read as an apology, "Why's she here? You know you can't just - bring anyone you want into headquarters, this isn't a bed and breakfast."

Sebastian looked to John as Tom chewed Professor Broom out. She furrowed her brow and opened her hands as if to say "what the fuck?"

To which John replied with a sheepish shrug of the shoulders.

"I'm sorry Miss, but-" Manning started.

"Tom," interject Professor Broom.

"You can't stay here. This is a government facility and I can't have -"

"Tom."

"Civilians running around doing and - and touching whatever they want-"

"Tom!"

"What?" He spun around to face Professor Broom, challenging him with a narrowed brow.

"Miss Deland is under the protection of the Bureau, it's right in the paperwork regarding Professor Deland and his Quick Stop."

Manning mulled this over and muttered a "must have missed that," to himself. Even in the face of his own error, he didn't relent, "Well she can't stay here, put her-put her with the other agents or something," and mumbled after that, "away from these freaks."

He pointed to John, "Go find her a room."

John looked to Sebastian then to Manning, "Sir, maybe Sebastian might feel more, uh, comfortable in this wing of the facility, with Professor Broom, seeing as - well, seeing as he's her Uncle and all."

Manning frowned, but didn't outright snap at the rejection. Instead he considered it and said to Professor Broom, "I didn't know you had a niece." He shook his head, annoyed and with little patience left for fuck-all. He waved John off, "Fine. Whatever," Manning said and stormed off in the same huff that he had come, "just let me know when that red- _idiot_ shows up."

The door slammed shut after him, leaving the room with the air of his anger hanging awkwardly about it.

Sebastian opened her mouth to speak, seemed to change her mind and said instead, "Fish for the fish tank?"

Abe's gills fluttered at her question. He cocked his head to her and blinked, "Yes, Abe Sapien, but, you can call me Abe. It's a pleasure to meet you, Sebastian."

"You too."

"I collected your father's research," he said, "I hope you don't mind. It's fascinating."

"You understood it?"

"Most of it, yes," said Abe. He held out the unbound book of papers to Sebastian.

She hesitated, eyeing them from the couch there as if he were offering her an encyclopedia full of spiders for letters.

"I never really understood any of it. You can... hold onto it for now. Add it to your books," she said with a nod to the lecterns, "They're yours, right?"

Abe nodded, withdrawing the research notes back to his chest with great care, "Four books a day," he said, "as long as there's someone to turn the pages."

"Don't think I've read four books in my life," Sebastian quipped.

"If you will be staying with us," Abe said, "perhaps we can read this one together then," he said with a slight indication to the book in his arms.

"Sure," Sebastian agreed.

"What happened out there," John Myers asked, "Did you find anything."

"We did," said Abe, blinking his eyes, "there was a man there, large, with a tattoo of a lion's pelt - draped across his shoulders and back."

"That's the guy we saw," said John with some excitement.

"Interesting," said Professor Broom, "Is there anything you could tell us about him, Abe?"

"No," said Abe with the inflection of a yes, "I wasn't able to read my surroundings," and added with wonder, "First time in my life."

"He's Greek, if that helps," said Sebastian.

"Oh?"

"He was speaking it at least. Right before we left," she nodded to John, who returned her acknowledgment with a look that read 'oh, so that's what that was.'

"What did he say?" Asked Professor Broom.

"Something about my father, but," she shrugged, "he's dead and I'm not about to follow some stranger that says he knows him."

John stifled a laugh and rubbed at his neck to hide his face.

Abe was quiet, save for a simple "uhm."

Professor Broom wore a patient smile.

Sebastian recognized the irony in her words almost immediately, "Oh goddammit, you know what I mean. That guy broke into my place and ripped a police officer's head off. I don't think anyone's that stupid."

"All humor aside," said Professor Broom's, "I think it's safe to say whoever this man spoke of - wasn't your father."

"Then why say it?"

"Could be any number of reason, but I think the implication was something greater. Was there anyone else there?"

Sebastian shrugged and shook her head.

"Just the police officer," said John Myers.

Professor Broom looked to Abe.

"I couldn't say."

"I suppose we will find out in time," he sounded exhausted, not with the day, but by the occasion of his life and work.


	7. It Was Like, Super Obvious if They Weren’t Fighting

“Where’s the kid?” Hellboy asked.

“Agent Myers picked her up not too long ago,” said Abe, “right before he called us in.”

Hellboy made an annoyed sound and repeated the name with much the same distaste, “Myers.”

“He’s bringing her back to headquarters - where she will be safe.”

“Safe,” Hellboy scoffed with a distinct lack of confidence.

Abe couldn’t refute his concern, or lack thereof, for Hellboy couldn’t rightly say he was concerned one way or another. Suppose, if he really had to think about it, he’d rather not. One less Agent to worry about. Abe saw this on his face, no mind reading necessary and said with hesitation, “He’s not that bad, you should give him a chance.”

“I don’t like him,” said Hellboy.

“It’s been three days,” said Abe.

“Three days of not likin’ him.” 

Abe shook his head.

“What?” When Abe didn’t respond right away, he repeated himself, sterner now, “What?”

“How many agents has it been?”

Hellboy scrunched his nose, “I don’t know? Four?” He shrugged with indifference, “Five? What’s it matter? I can handle myself, I don’t need some - kid babysitting me. Sooner Father realizes that, the better.”

“They’re not babysitters,” Abe said, “they’re partners.”

“Don’t need one,” said Hellboy.

“Oh?” Abe cocked his head to the side.

“Well beside you,” Hellboy amended with an apologetic nod. “And if you like the kid so much, why don’t you take him?”

“Because I don’t need a babysitter.”

Hellboy pursed his lips and pointed a stony finger at his partner, insults all coming to mind in a flustered jumble. He made a small noise in attempt, but settled instead on a long grunt that slowly altered to a low and warning, “you.”

Abe chuckled.

“You’re lucky we’re on a job,” Hellboy said, “or I’d turn you into fishticks.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” lied Abe, with all the inflections of a delighted child.

“Why don’t you finish up here. I’ll try and find Tiny,” Hellboy said, and didn’t have to add - “before he finds them,” it was implied within the subtext - and Abe couldn’t stop him anyway, regardless of excuse or how wrong the subtext actually was.

“Manning isn’t going to like that,” Abe warned.

“Fuck Manning,” Hellboy spat, “tell him he can eat my ass.”

“I’m not going to tell him that.”

“I’ll write it down for you.”

“I’m not giving him that.”

“Fine, I’ll tell him myself when I get back,” Hellboy shouldered through a door too small for him.

“Try not to be long,” Abe advised.

Broken glass littered the ground, catching the colors of a rising sun on their edges. There wasn’t much in the way of clues, save for a few bloody footprints. But Hellboy had made a decision and stuck with.

Abe sighed to himself and regretted his future.

Hellboy climbed up a black railed fire escape, each bootfall a metallic echo in an empty alley. From the rooftop he could make out much more of the city and much less of Tiny. No wake of destruction, no hurried motions of escape or shady figures in shady alcoves, just a sleepy city starting to wake.

It was possible, he noted as he leapt between buildings, that he had chosen wrong from the start and Tiny never came this way at all. It was also possible he had gone another way entirely, or gone no way altogether and still lurked around the lot of Deland’s Quick and Get the Fuck Out. It was also possible he disappeared completely, it wouldn’t be the strangest thing, or Hell, even the first time that’s happened. 

Hellboy really wished it were one of the former. A wrong inclination was much easier dealt with than a pissed off UFC fighter that could turn invisible at will.

He landed four buildings away, pausing once more to take in the city. His gaze carefully moving over each figure, sign, and stone. 

Hellboy exhaled a grunt and awkwardly crouched on the building’s ledge, then sat down. 

“Wellp,” he said to himself matter of factly. He pulled a cigar from the inside breast pocket of his coat and tucked it between his lips. He tasted the sour of Red Bull, the cigar just soggy enough where it became unusable.

“You gotta be kiddin’ me,” he rolled his eyes, “first he ruins my coat,” he said, “now this? Bastard,” he flicked it over where it bounced harmlessly off the sidewalk below. 

It was about that time that, between littering and cursing, that Abe had finally relayed the information of their discovery to Manning; who was growing increasingly more red in the face. 

And Hellboy, well, he had turned his locator and earpiece off way before anyone at the BPRD would have cared to look for him. So he never got the furious and many calls from Manning demanding his return, or the one single kind plea from his father. 

With all that, for all the people in that moment he could feel sorry for, Hellboy felt the sorriest for himself. And not for the absolute shit he’d be in when he finally returned. Good cigars were not cheap - or easy to come by {especially when you were him}. Shame it was to waste and he hung his head with a disappointed shake. 

There was a moment there, just long enough where he stared down sadly at the wet cigar so many stories down, and the curl of his knuckles over his knee, when he noticed something mostly obvious, but veiled in a flurry of previous blows. 

He flexed his fingers on one hand, then looked to his other, and flexed those stone ones as well. He counted them out silently, eyes jumping from one to the next as he tested an invisible puzzle to their fit.

U.L.E.S

“Hercules,” he said “Son of a bitch.”


	8. I Swear I Planned This Before NASA!

“I have to say, you’re taking all of this rather well,” said Professor Broom.

“I guess,” Sebastian snorted. 

Today was a coffee black, no cream and sugar kind of day, just an all around bitter and stale go-back-to-bed kind of day. Which, maybe was a bit insensitive to say, seeing as Officer Noble was having a far worse start to his day, lying headless and probably dead in a congealing pool of high-cholesterol, Red Bull and blood. “Probably” being the key word, neither she, nor Professor Broom could guarantee it, or anything else for the day for that matter. For all they knew Officer Noble had rolled up off the linoleum, dusted off his uniform and grabbed a cold cup of coffee, wondering why the Hell it kept spilling down onto his shirt. If it weren’t for the anti-theft mirrors in the ceiling corners, Officer Noble may never even notice he was missing the most important part of his body for holding hats.

{Which was of course was not true. Should you be curious to Officer Noble’s fate, two copies of the coroner’s report can be acquired through the local PD. One accurate and one less. Which one you receive will depend on the ID you use.}

“My father was an eccentric who believed I came from beyond the stars - so when it all comes down to it, this is pretty run of the mill, Abe included,” she jerked a thumb over in the direction of the tank where Abe floated lazily, refreshed by the waters outside a skintight suit. “Don’t get me wrong, Professor, I’m not exactly OK with how things went down this morning. Stuff like that you only want to see in horror movies. I’m not too keen on seeing it happen again. Or experiencing it myself. Having your head twisted off like a soda cap,” she whistled, “nasty way to go. I feel bad for the guy, even if he was a cop.”

“I assure you, we will do everything in our power to make sure that doesn’t happen to you,” said Professor Broom, like he had any say in the matter.

“Couldn’t you,” John piped up, “...couldn’t you just...if he showed up again, leave? Teleport? Like you did at the store?” 

“Sure,” said Sebastian with so much sarcasm, “I’ll just pop over to Arizona if shit starts getting real, rent a house and eat at Lo-Lo’s every night with all the money I have,” and added flatly, “I create pathways, not infinite money. Leaving would be more of an inconvenience for me than it would be for him.”

John felt very silly for making the suggestion. 

“Pathways?” Abe asked from the echo of his tank, “Professor, could it be...?” and trailed off the thought for Professor Broom to complete on his own. 

Professor Broom looked to Sebastian, “I think it might...Could you show me?” 

“No,” Sebastian said and did not explain why. “Is that what that guy wants?” she asked “For me to open a pathway to...where? A bank?” 

“Worse,” said Professor Broom.

“Supermarket,” Sebastian whispered with feigned horror.

“I mentioned the Ogdru Jahad,” said Professor Broom, “and the portal created to break its prison. I think that - is why he seeks you. To complete the ritual.” 

“Hard pass,” Sebastian said, “I’ve got a pretty firm stand on helping Nazis. Which is, don’t.” 

“If they find you, you won’t have a choice.”

“They may certainly try,” thought Sebastian. “So, what’s next?” she asked.

“Me,” An unfamiliar voice answered in a loud boom; The door swung open in dramatic fashion, the yellow study lights haloed broken horns and chiseled jaw. His eyes burned like fire in the shadow of his brow, every cut and corner a fine black line where the light refused him. His red silhouette was framed perfect there in the doorway, like a Rembrandt painting straight from Hell, signed with a cocky turn up of his lip.

It was only too bad that Sebastian had never heard of him, and therefore could not even feign to appreciate the man that stood before her with his peculiar right hand.

“Sebastian, this is my son,” said Professor Broom with fatherly pride, “Hellboy.”

There’s this saying that, “first impressions are everything.” It is, of course, not true, yet bears quite a bit upon the way we perceive a person - either correctly or incorrectly so. As soon as you meet, from that first nod or handshake hello, you are making judgments: how a person looks, how they act, how they introduce themself. So when you happen to be a full grown half-demon, half-man and your elderly father introduces you like a third grade science fair prodigy - it would be safe to say your first impression wasn’t exactly the strongest. And as such, neither was your second or third - or the confidence anyone might put in you for any serious job outside Mega Bloks.

And every little bit of that confidence made itself known when Sebastian said, “Oh...hey.” 

Oh.  
Just.  
Oh.

And with that “Oh” followed a very awkward and embarrassed silence that would have done well to be paired with the notes from a sad trombone. But it wasn’t, and Hellboy had to trudge his way into the study to the echo of Sebastian’s unimpressed “Oh” and the realization that maybe he wasn’t all that great.

Which was total horse shit.

“So, Hellboy,” Sebastian watched him over the back of the couch, “How long were you standing outside the door,” she asked, “waiting to do that?”

“What’re you talking about? I just got here.” 

“Two minutes and thirty-four seconds,” said Abe, definitively and correctly.

“Hey,” Hellboy pointed a silencing finger, “nobody asked you.”

“Always trying so hard to impress everyone,” Abe blinked, which was the closest he could get to a grin.

“I’m really sorry,” Sebastian did not apologize, “I honestly haven’t heard of you. If you want to do it again, I’ll try to be more impressed. Say wow and gasp and everything.”

“Cute.” Hellboy said rather flatly and just as unimpressed as she. “So this is the kid?”

“Sebastian,” she corrected. 

“Alright, Seb,” he said on purpose before turning back to his father “You don’t honestly believe any of that crap do you?”

“I was there” said Professor Broom, “she came through that portal - just as you did.” 

Hellboy looked to Sebastian, then to his father, then back again, then held out an incredulous hand towards Sebastian as if to say ‘This girl? This one? Right here? Without the horns? Without the tail? Without the red skin? This girl? Came from Hell? Take another look. REALLY look. Are you - SURE?’

And Professor Broom was sure. “I may be old, but I am certain,” he said, “she is very much the same girl from all those years ago.” 

“Were you going to tell me?” asked Hellboy in exasperated annoyance. 

“It was Professor Deland’s choice that Sebastian remained separate from the BPRD. It’s only by these extreme circumstances that she is here today.”

Hellboy stuck out his bottom jaw and grimaced. Sebastian knowing full well the reason why. She was normal, more so than any of them, and as such had been granted that normal life he so dreamed of. He didn’t have to know her to hate her for it. 

“Nice to meet you too,” said Sebastian. 

“Please try to get along,” chastised Professor Broom, “I’m going to need you by her side on this.” 

“Have Myers watch her,” Hellboy said dismissively.

“Myers will be keeping an eye on the both of you,” said Professor Broom.

“Oh, sir, I don’t know about -” John, flustered by the sudden responsibility, interrupted, unable to form any kind of coherent rejection of proposal under the burning gaze of two demons and the well meaning Professor.

“Don’t worry,” assured Professor Broom, “I’m sure these two will be no trouble at all.” The tone in which he said it warned that they probably should.

Hellboy and Sebastian shared a look tense with extreme dislike for no reason at all other than the assumption that the other disliked them more. 

Myers knew this was going to be just awful and wondered if maybe he could convince Agent Clay to stay. He’d gladly resign to a McDonald’s drive thru. 

Professor Broom wheeled the conversation back around and on point, “You took your time getting back. Were you able to find anything?”

“Yeah,” Hellboy really wished he had a cigar about now, “Remember back in ‘79? Mount Olympus? People started saying they saw Gods walking around the Agropolis and crap?” 

“Ah, yes,” Professor Broom rubbed at his white and grey beard, “If I remember correctly, the Three Fates Society was running a biogenetic facility out of the heart of the mountain. They called it the Titan Project. As I recall, you and Abe cleared out the facility. Took thirteen hours.”

“Yeah, well, looks like we missed one. Guy who’s after the girl has got Hercules tattooed on his knuckles.” 

“Not unusual,” Professor Broom said, “I believe there was a wrestler that did the same thing.”

“How about take a bullet to the chest? He do that?”

“You sure you didn’t just miss?” Sebastian interjected. 

Hellboy turned and said rather seriously, “I don’t miss.” 

“I can’t say that he did. Abe? Were you able to discern anything about this man, this Hercules?” Professor Broom asked.

Abe physically shifted his weight about the artificial tide, “No, I couldn’t get a reading,” he admitted, “every item I touched,” he said rolling his wrist slowly to expose his palm, “had no history. It was as if - nothing in that place had ever existed before we got there.“

“Didn’t even know the bastard was coming until he was there,” finished Hellboy.

Abe blinked in agreement. 

“That is very peculiar,” said Professor Broom.

“Agent Myers said she teleported,” said Abe, looking for verification before continuing.

John nodded in a way that said he was very much unprepared to be involved in the conversation at all. 

“It could be that these pathways interrupt time as well as space. More like a black hole, rather than a door.” 

“If you are right,” Professor Broom started slowly, “then she may be in more trouble than we initially thought.”

Sebastian quirked a brow.

“John, after you’ve found Sebastian a room, would you head down to the archives and pull the files on the Titan Project?”

“Sure.”

“In the meantime, Sebastian, you are welcome to stay here or explore our facility.” 

“I think I’d like to get some breakfast,” said Sebastian, “then maybe discuss this … more trouble.”


	9. Waffles and Pamcakes, Breakfast of "Champions"

        The International House of Pancakes’ advertising campaign revolves around two things: Pancakes {it’s in the name} and Smiles {implied}{hidden overtly between the O and P}. So it was all too amusing, sitting there across from a stack of fourty-three and six half pancakes and one very angry {half} demon.

        Angry because he had nothing better to do, not because his pancakes were particularly awful.

        The table was honestly, much too big for the two of them, even if Hellboy didn’t take up two spots on his own. It was a very long and very expensive table, carved from a color of wood that was probably very hard to pronounce and reserved only for guests and events worth celebrating. Professor Broom had encouraged Sebastian to sit and enjoy her breakfast at its comfort.

        Hellboy had joined for the sole purpose and joy of ruining that breakfast.

        He shoveled a forkful of syrup rich pancakes into his already overstuffed mouth, glowering over the stack, which hadn’t come from any International House of Pancakes, but their own Paranormal Kitchen, cooked up by a chef who moonlighted at a Denny’s.

        Sebastian had her own small plate, stacked two high with waffles, which she had informed the chef she preferred over pancakes. She wasn’t sure, between her own chewing, if this was why Hellboy sat with such disdain that clenched his jaw about the ears in vicious lines, or if it were their initial introduction, or altogether both. 

        It had been five minutes of hateful chewing and one minute between {here and there} where one, or both, took sips of their orange juice, never once blinking from over the ring of glass. 

        “What?” Sebastian finally spoke up.

Hellboy did not answer beyond chewing. 

        “What?” She asked once more with greater inflection.

“Nuttin,” said Hellboy with a mouth full of food.

        Sebastian narrowed her eyes upon him, then slowly {very slowly} looked down at her waffles.

“Who doesn’t like pamcakes?” Hellboy scoffed beneath his breath {which immediately drew Sebastian’s ire once more}.

        “Too much bread,” said Sebastian, taking a bite of her waffles {bread}. “Besides, everyone knows waffles are better.”

“Everyone? Who’s everyone?” Asked Hellboy, “five year olds? Maybe I can put a word in with the chef, get you a Mickey Mouse waffle iron.”

        “That would be cool,” said Sebastian, “But I like Sonic better. Get a Sonic one.”

“I’m not getting you a waffle iron,” Hellboy grumbled, faltering on her dismissal of a most obvious bait for argument.

        “Oh. Then you shouldn’t have offered,” said Sebastian, taking a sip of a pulpy orange juice {she hated pulp and made a face when she drank}. “How are your pancakes? They draw smiley faces on them with the syrup?” 

        “Yeah and they all look like you,” Hellboy said, emphasizing meaning as he took his knife to carve another slice out. Too much anger backed his blade and had him carve a chunk out of his plate with an annoying grind. 

        “Aw, that’s so sweet,” Sebastian teased flatly, ignoring the obvious jab. 

Which was more infuriating than literally anything else she could have said. 

        “Cut the crap,” Hellboy finally said, slamming his fist (still holding the fork) down, “I don’t know what you’re game is, but whatever you’re selling my Father - I ain’t buying it.”

        “Right, sorry, I forgot to mention I hired some brawny bastard to break into my place and try to murder me in an elaborate ruse to get to the BPRD. You caught me.”

        Hellboy glowered. 

       “I didn’t even know you all existed until a few hours ago,” said Sebastian, “I’m just as unhappy about the whole situation as you. So maybe consider cooling it?”

        Hellboy did not “cool it.” 

“Not everyone is as used to all this stuff as you,” she scraped up another bite.

        “Yeah, you’ve been working in a Quick Mart for the past sixty years. How’d you get so lucky,” he spat.

“Well, no, because I would have been a baby,” Sebastian replied calmly, “I’ve only been working there for a few years. People start getting weird when it’s been twenty years and you haven’t changed a bit,” she emphasized “weird” with a wiggle of her fingers.  “I’m guessing you don’t get out much though?” She asked, her tone softened with the pity she shared for his plight.

        “What’s that supposed to mean?”

        Sebastian furrowed her brow. There was no hidden meaning behind the statement, in fact it seemed pretty damn obvious why one might think that. “Really?” She asked, knowing if anything this was him making her say it in an effort to make her feel uncomfortable. Which wasn’t exactly a well founded move, but it had worked before with lesser men. Only problem was, Sebastian wasn’t a man. 

        Human or otherwise.

“Can’t imagine people take too kindly to,” she drew a circle in the air around him with her fork, “all of that. That why you cut them?” She tapped her fork to her forehead, indicating Hellboy’s finely filed stumps of horn.

        Hellboy flicked a warning gaze to her and said much more harshly, “Ain’t nobody’s business but my own.” 

“Don’t get your tail twisted,” Sebastian said defensively, “I get where you’re coming from. I mean, I didn’t always look like this.”

        “You look pretty damn normal to me.” 

“Yeah, well I made some pretty permanent mistakes,” she said.

        Hellboy mulled this over as he chewed, and asked between a mouthful of syrup and quick bread. “Was it worth it?”

“Not really,” said Sebastian. She sat for a minute, pushing a strawberry around as she considered how much to tell Hellboy and how much she really cared to bond with him in any manner: acquaintance or more. “I had a tail,” she finally reconciled, “like yours, not red though, black because, well,” and she shrugged in explanation, because well of course it was black, she was black. “I used to wear a lot of sweatpants because they were easier to hide it in. It was pretty uncomfortable and definitely not fashionable at the time, but I wanted to fit in. It got to the point where I figured, life would just be easier without it. The tail, not the sweatpants,” she clarified, “Took my father’s box cutter one night ...” she couldn’t bring herself to say it, her skin visibly prickling to the memory. She shook her head as if that would do well enough to rid it from her thoughts, “Worst thing I ever did. Anyway, I got hooves too, but no one looks at anyone’s feet - except weirdos.” 

        {My apologies to those reading this report who may find private enjoyment from such things.}

Hellboy leaned down to look under the table, half expecting exactly that, but seeing instead: Bright red galoshes.

        She laughed, “Weirdo.”

“Ass.”

        Whether or not her statements were true was a fact now rendered moot as she chuckled at his falling. He’d never believe her again. 

        {During her physical examination, which did not happen until later this day, Sebastian verified these demonic traits with physicians. Stating she had learned the trick with galoshes after a neighbor’s kid put them on their {the neighbor’s} goat.}

        The great dining hall’s table creaked as Hellboy shifted his weight against it.

        “I get it though,” she said, “all that’s easy to say, it not being worth it, when I had the opportunity. I’m sorry you didn’t, but I’ve got no control over any of that. So it’s kind of fucked up to be mad about it,” she pointed with her fork. 

        She had a point, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. Besides, he didn’t owe her anything, fuck sorries, he’d stay mad about it and she can go to Hell. Or back to it.

        Whatever.


	10. The Tenth Chapter

“So, what’s it like working for the BPRD?” Sebastian asked.

Hellboy gave an indifferent shrug as he ate, “S’alright,” he chewed, “If you like getting covered in monster crap.”

“Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.”

Hellboy made a mental note to correct that fact. 

“What about that Myers guy, what’s his deal?” She asked.

“Myers?” Scoffed Hellboy, “Just some kid from the state. The boys upstairs like to keep an eye on us monsters.” His emphasis of “us” made Sebastian believe, that he didn’t believe she was anything much like him or Abe at all. 

“So he’s just some guy? Seems like he might be in over his head,” said Sebastian.

“He ain’t the only one, kid.” 

Sebastian couldn’t even muster the care to roll her eyes. Where annoyance painted itself an obvious mosaic within Hellboy’s demeanor and tone, Sebastian was a modern Kazimir Malevich, different shades of one kind of indifferent. 

“What about you and Abe, are you two the only ‘‘monsters’ working here?” Air quotes included.

“Yeah, others come and go. No one hangs around longer than they got to. Abe and I though, we ain’t really got a choice. If you are what you say you are, then consider yourself lucky, kid. Cause it ain’t get any better looking like this,” he indicated his own face with a whirl of his finger. 

A scowl pulled at the corner of Sebastian’s lip. Hellboy had only known himself his whole life, and it was obvious in that fact that he would give no other life a breadth of air within the spaces he couldn’t fill. Sebastian was a nuisance brought on by work, and was nothing else but that. A job half assed.

“There’s nothing lucky about the way I look,” Sebastian replied calmly.

“Far as I’m concerned you‘re nothing but some gas station clerk who was in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Hellboy shot back, “I don’t know why any of them out there believe a single thing you say, when you’ve done nothing but be a pain in the ass since you got here.”

“Again,” Sebastian said, “I’m sorry you got the shit end of the stick here, but I’m not going to bend over backwards for you just because you don’t believe me. Get over yourself.” Her chair scraped viciously against the floorboards as she stood to leave.

“Wait,” Hellboy stopped her.

“What?”

A pause.

“You gonna finish those?”

There was just a staggered hint in her look as she made to excuse herself from Hellboy’s tired presence. He had the balls, the absolute monster cojones, to sit there stone faced (and stone armed), and ask her if she was going to finish her breakfast? Like he didn’t just put a cherry right there on top of the major shit he just took all over it.

Sebastian stared at him and he stared right back. 

He was absolutely serious.

“No,” she said and pushed the plate towards him. But with the table much longer than benefitted two persons, the plate only made it about a quarter of the way down, which meant one of them had to get up and grab it or make a fool of themselves trying to stretch for it. 

Sebastian had the ability, not just physically, but psychically _{that’s what you might call it. Or would it be extraplanarly? Extradimensionally? Any way but humanly.}_ to move them, or even drop them on Hellboy’s head _{something he was expecting}_. And did neither.

Hellboy too, could have easily stood up, walked around the table, walked around and grabbed up those waffles and enjoyed a good belly warming breakfast that he’d regret later while running down the street after some monster. And he did neither. 

And since neither did one or the other, the waffles sat right there in the middle of the table, maybe a little closer to one side of the middle, for the rest of the day. Until one very annoyed janitor found them well into the afternoon, a melted mess of syrup and bread with two flies stuck in it having a grand ol’ time drinking up out of it all.

Sebastian quietly stormed her way out while Hellboy scoffed in her absence.

“Get over myself?” He repeated, “She should get over herself,” and called her a very foul name he was only brave enough to do in private. 

“Alright, I think I’ve found everything on the Titan Project that I could find,” Myers shouldered the door to the dining hall. In his hands he held a cardboard box, which was a waste seeing as there was really only one packet of information slouched there on the inside. Small enough that a manila envelope would have done the trick.

“Where’d Sebastian go?” He asked as he placed it down on the table corner.

“Left,” said Hellboy. He found it very odd Myers hadn’t passed her on his way in, but mentioned nothing about it. “That’s it? Thought we got more out of it than that.” 

“This was all I found,” John said, regarding the box with disappointment.

Hellboy leaned over and grabbed the packet, leaving sticky fingerprints on the corners. “Calum Murphy,” he spoke through chewed up pancake, “Total nut-job.” He slapped the papers down and flipped through. “Thought he could bring back the Old Gods, so he tried to reanimate the dead. Only he never learned the Greek rituals. Turns out phonetically pronouncing your spells gets you bad results,” Hellboy recalled, his focus miles away in the past as he thumbed through the papers.

“So what happened?” John asked.

“Lot of bad things.“

John watched him quietly, waiting for more of the story but getting nothing but Hellboy chewing and flipping pages. 

“Hmm. What do you think about her?” Hellboy asked, “The girl?” 

What Hellboy meant to say was “What do you think about Sebastian’s involvement.” What John heard was, “What do you think about Sebastian? Dot-dot-dot.”

“O-oh,” Myers thought about it for only a moment before spluttering “she’s cute.”

Hellboy laughed. 

John immediately flushed about his ears and wanted very badly to fold into himself and disappear.

“Good, that’s good Myers,” Hellboy chortled, “No, I mean, what do you think she has to do with all of this.” 

“I uh, don’t know,” he couldn’t think straight enough to form an answer and honestly wanted to be anywhere but here thinking about her and looking like a damn fool in front of Hellboy. He knew he’d never live this down, and when he died, he was sure Hellboy would bring him back every now and again to remind him.

“I should probably get these to the Professor,” he snatched up the file, such that it was, from Hellboy’s fingers and crammed it all back into the box. 

“Hey, where you going?”

Myers made a hasty retreat, still thirty different shades of red in the face, ignoring Hellboy’s teasing pleas of “Come on, we ain’t finished talking yet.”


End file.
